All weekend, after having survived the Saturday morning shopping trip, yes, survived, I've dosed, drank a few litres of cheap cider that really could have done with some refrigeration but the fridge is downstairs and my tiny little spare room is upstairs and so warm cider it shall be. Having lived and felt like a Zombie for the past couple of days, seemingly unable, unwilling even, to get my brain into gear, I needed to escape, break free from these four walls that were threatening slow insidious suffocation and so, amazed by the eagerness of both mind and body, I was up washed and toileted early and these tired old feet hit the street at about ten.
It had rained in the night. "Didn't you hear it?" Asked she who shall be obeyed.
Well no, I hadn't actually, the juice had obviously worked it's magic but then I had probably still been dead on my feet from an arduous Saturday, the years are starting take their toll.
I love mornings like these. The streets and gardens all washed by rain, the air chilly but not cold, everything just feels clean and fresh, there's a quiet stillness with village-life that I used to find quite overwhelming, now take for granted, and I'm so affected by this that, wearing my favoured crocs, I find myself tiptoeing almost through my estate trying not to break the silence. Even the songbirds, although busily gathering worms and bugs for nestlings no doubt, seem to be observing the silence broken only by the hum of a bee or the heavy rumbling coo, from that bully of the bird-table, a horny old Wood Pigeon. As I walked uphill toward the Main Street I passed under a big old Horse Chestnut tree that had put down a carpet of pink blossom and side-stepping a splattering of pigeon droppings, there's probably a nest up there somewhere, as I went.
There were plenty of cars parked in the medical centre car park I noticed although I doubt that they're open for business but as I hit the High street it soon became apparent that most trading establishments were.
Costcutters I decided would be the most fortunate recipients of my sixty-five pence in return for my morning newspaper and then, purchase made, I headed for a public bench just to pause, take " time out " to peruse the headlines of the day. Behind me, as I sat reading, the public loos that are always kept spotlessly clean, credit to the town for that, and in front, across a not so busy main road, a village green dotted with daisies. I could think of worse scenarios. I didn't sit for long and soon, headlines perused, I made my way back home for a late breakfast consisting of yesterday's leftovers, washed down with yes, I'm sure you can guess, warm cider.
It ain't so bad,